How to never be wrong about Gays.

Via Joe.My.God.

Funniest thing I saw all day at work.

Adventures in sexting

I've written before about how I'm kind of awkward trying to say anything coherent or sexy during sex. I don't do phone sex because I'm afraid of sounding like a cheesy porno. But sexting (or sex messaging)? That I can do. I posted a series of sext messages from The Scientist a month or so ago.

Well, because I'm a lucky girl, (and, who knows, maybe you all are lucky readers,) I have more super hot sext messages that I got permission to post. The Pilot sent these to me a few weeks ago. He was mentioning that he was proud of them, but didn't really know how to show them off. I, of course, willingly offered him a place to do so. He made an effort to keep each paragraph to the 160-character limit imposed by his phone, so I'll post them as such.

Which makes me think, perhaps we should start using Twitter to post erotica. Yesss... TwittErotica. Maybe this means I'll be getting a Twitter for this blog. We'll see. Not sure how many I can consecutively handle.

Anyway, without further ado, The Pilot's sext fantasy:

The sun still lights the sky from behind the mountains, casting a warm glow on your white-clad form as you cross the yard to meet me.

You're wearing the now-iconic dress and the heavy glass pendant but I'm more interested in the smiling lips and gorgeous dark eyes that are now radiant with joy.

You grab me in what must be the hardest embrace you can and whisper "I missed you" into my shoulder. "You too," I smile, pinned against the car

as I return the hug with equal intensity. "I hear there's free drinks downstairs..." I quip, and you smirkingly take the hint.

Your roommates know what's up and keep the greetings brief and in minutes I'm listening to the pavlovian click of your door being locked.

Not even a breath later, you're against the wall with my hand on your neck and my lips pressed to yours. After a long kiss, I let my hand slide down between

your perfect tits, ending with one finger on your chest. "Stay" I quietly command, and move your chair sideways. "What...?" you start to say, but I'm kissing

you again as I guide you to the chair. "Ohh." You smile coyly as you wriggle onto the arm, your hips moving suggestively to meet the wall behind you.

"I knew you'd figure it out" I say, and kneel in front of you, slowly running my hands up the insides of your legs coaxing them wider and pulling your dress

along for the ride. I narrowly miss the hot mound between them, teasing a desperate whimper out of you as I stop at your hips and dig my thumbs into the

secret buttons I know are hidden there. Gradually releasing pressure, I begin to slide back down your silky legs, this time "accidentally" hooking

my fingers into your panties. With a little cooperation on your part, they're soon sylistically complimenting the rug behind me- leaving your pussy deliciously exposed.

You're already wet, and I can feel the heat radiating from you long before my fingers touch your soft flesh. You let out a moan and hurredly fumble

with my pants. My belt thuds to the floor and we share a chuckle before lapsing back into heavy breathing. My pants and underwear join your panties,

and before I know it, your beautifully feminine hand is caressing my raging hardon. Conscious thought momentarily pauses and I find myself gripping your

neck to keep from falling over. You choke out a gasp and forget to jerk me off just long enough for me to refocus on you. I let your hot cunt go and move my

hand behind your hips, pulling them away from the wall and towards my desperately erect cock. Moving slowly closer, I move the hand at your neck down to my cock,

guiding the head to just barely touch your cunt. "Hey" I get your attention with a lustful kiss and your dark eyes lock mine as I slowly lean into you...

Inch by inch my cock disappears into your hot, lathered hole. The feeling of your muscles tightening around me makes me growl with pleasure and I have to catch

myself with your neck again. I want to stop for a moment, to savor the feeling, but your hips drive into me as your hands find their way to my taut ass,

pulling me into you. I pause for a second and you dig your nails in, forcing me deeper and making me squeeze your neck indignantly. Not that I can resist for long.

Our rhythms begin to sync; my hand behind your hips and your nails on my ass lock us together and I fall forward, biting your neck around my tightened hand.

By now we're both panting with animal lust, sweating and grinding against each other in the frantic throes of lovemaking that's been denied for months.

As the room shrinks to only you and I, I start to feel the rush of the impending explosion building at the base of my cock and my thrusts take on a new urgency.

I can tell you're as close as I am from the short, gasping breaths that you're stealing through the hand on your neck and the palpable pulsing of your cunt

muscles. It's finally too much and my whole body tenses as I shoot hot cum deep into your clenching, dripping cunt.

My hips thrust rythmically of their own accord, driving my pulsing cock as deep as it will go. I can feel you gripping me with every movement, encircling my

solid erection in slick, throbbing heat. Your own frantic motions drag a breathless "ohfuckohfuckOHFUCKFUCK...FUCK!!!" from your lips. Your back arches

and my skin burns behind your raking fingernails, proving without words that Oh yes, it WAS good for you. Our breath comes in ragged gasps and through the tingling

semi-blackout of our shared orgasm I am only dimly aware of the juices soaking both of us from the hips down. Breathing slows, muscles relax, and after a few

breaths, I slowly, languidly slide out of you, lingering with each tiny sensation of skin on cum-slicked skin. I smirk and murmur into your neck

"I think we're gonna need a towel." A euphoric "Ha!" is all you can manage before sighing deeply and slouching into my arms. "But first, let's do it again," I grin.

The pitch.

Well, it's that time of year. The academic year is coming to a close. It's something I've gone through, what, 16 times before? But this time it's different. This time, I'm not coming back. That's right, I'm graduating college.

And what comes along with that (other than parties and tears and more parties)? Stress. Primarily about finding a job. As everyone I've spoken to affirms, I know networking is key any time you're looking for a job, but it's even more crucial in this crazy economy. So, I'm networking. With all of you.

I would love to find a job working for a sexuality-related company, writing, editing, blogging, reviewing, doing outreach, managing... I've got a pretty strong skill-set. Of course, I can't get especially in-depth here, but I do have a shiny resume and elevator speech available to someone interested.

So, here are the facts:

I'm a graduate of one of the top journalism schools in the country, graduating magna cum laude with a B.S. in magazine journalism and a minor in LGBT studies.

I have experience writing, editing, and managing staff for magazines, newspapers and web sites. I have managed award-winning editorial teams and as such am familiar with the entire editorial process - from concept to publlication. My minor in LGBT studies gives me a strong background in sexuality and gender theory, and I'm always eager to learn more.

I have a variety of multimedia skills, including fluency in varous blogging software (Wordpress, Blogger and a Drupal-based CMS), as well as audio and video editing skills (Audacity and Final Cut Express), and am well-versed in other multimedia and design software, including Adobe CS3 (Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign) and Soundslides. I have examples of my work in these multimedia fields that I would be happy to share.

I'm fluent in Spanish. I am well-versed in AP style, as well as more academic styles of writing (including APA, MLA, CMS). I work well under pressure and on short deadlines.

I'm looking for a job that will be fast-paced enough to keep me busy and challenge me, where I can apply a dynamic combination of my multimedia and traditional skills. Ideally, I'd love such a position in the sexuality-related sphere, but I am open to new challenges as well. My physical location will be in Colorado, but I am quite comfortable commuting or freelancing from the Web.

Please contact me at sashasappho@gmail.com if you (or someone you know) are interested in seeing a resume and communicating further.

Almost lover.

Yet another post about Edward. Maybe this will be less scatter-brained. (Sorry about that last post, by the way.)

Anyway. I'm behind the times, but I just found this song. And it very much describes the whole Edward and I thing. I spent two hours on the phone with him last night. I can't be angry at him anymore. I don't have the energy. Although I was doing OK with him just letting me alone. But that hasn't seemed to be the tactic of any of the lost lovers in my life lately. But this song is sad and beautiful and resonates with fallen hope... I think that's appropriate.

And one more assertion that I couldn't have picked a more apt psuedonym for him - apparently this song is going to be in the newest Twilight movie. When Edward and Bella split up. Funny how that works.




should have known you'd bring me heartache - almost lovers always do...

Camp counselor

The few real-life friends who read this and have known me for some time will get the above reference. But as of late, I've found myself back in my old camp counselor shoes. No, I was never an actual camp counselor, but that was always how friends referred to my (and often our communal) tendency to be the one people wanted to talk to about their problems. The person people sought for advice. I know a lot of secrets. And in almost every case, those secrets have stayed exclusively with me. Then that habit faded for several years. Perhaps it had something to do with my own problems becoming more apparent and all-consuming... I'm thinking about an HNT possibly demonstrating as much one of these days.

Anyway. In the past few weeks, I have suddenly found myself back in the camp counselor position. Strangely enough, this time it's basically entirely with boys. (Traditionally, the clientele were almost all women.) It's possible this is a side-effect of my recent conversion into "one of the boys" - really, more of a solidification of my status there - but it seems strange to me that suddenly people are coming to me. And in every case, I can almost watch myself from the outside, as if someone else was narrating. I can hear the tone in these guys' voices, (or, sometimes, pick it up through our conversations online) and I just get the feeling that they desperately want someone to listen. So that's what I do. I ask them questions, prodding them to keep going. And they do. And sometimes they don't stop, at all. Occasionally, they stop periodically to apologize for blathering on about themselves, at which point I assure them I don't mind, then continue asking them questions about themselves. And they seem to appreciate it.

One case has been exclusively online, but is nonetheless interesting. He was a classmate I went to school with my freshman year of college, which puts us currently on opposite ends of the country. Up until about a month ago, he and I hadn't spoken since I left that school in 2006. Not even when I visited the campus last year - he and I didn't run into each other. We weren't exceptionally close friends when we were classmates, though we did live a few doors down from one another, have many mutual friends, and a shared sense that we were both a little "weird." (A term I use knowing both of us still identify as such and enjoy it.) I happened to make a comment about his status on facebook about a month ago, which started a conversation that has essentially been running since.

After the obligatory catch-ups (where are you at? what's your major? single or not? etc), he launched into a discussion about sexuality. He and I had never particularly talked about it before, although I probably looked more like I was into what I'm into then than I do now. (That was a terrible sentence. The cough syrup is getting to me.) Anyway, he launched into a conversation about sexuality, heading towards non-monogamy. It was honestly fascinating to stumble across another person in my life who embraces this "non-normative" sexuality so openly. He's also fascinatingly at peace with himself - something he's actually helping me work my way towards. But he seems so eager to have someone to talk to about his relationship, and these new things he's exploring... It's great to be that person for him. I'm sure I'm not the only one in his life, but I get the impression he really enjoys having someone who is honestly interested and curious about what he's doing. Tonight, he was exploring how he's feeling about the fact that his long-distance fiancee is going to be with another guy (pre-discussed, determined, OK'd and all that, of course) and deciding whether or not he wanted to watch via webcam. He was so nervous and anxious and excited... It was carrying through in his responses. And he kept coming back to talk to me, more emotions he wanted to work through. It was fun to be there for him. Of course, in situations like this, it's easy to be the camp counselor.

Then today, another friend contacted me out of the blue. He graduated from my current university last year, and was my right-hand-man when I was running the magazine last year. We didn't exactly have a falling out, but he came under the impression I had feelings for him (which I entertained for about five seconds) and ran scared. He has since apologized, but we haven't actually seen one another although he's been back to visit periodically.

He called me up tonight - I couldn't quite tell if he was drunk. My guess is that he'd had a few. But he started telling me to put off the real world as long as I could. I got a feeling this wasn't simply a phone call to offer me advice. So I asked him what he meant. And off he went, talking about how he hates being tied down to one place, how he wanted to travel and DO something with his life. And he likes where he is but he doesn't like what he's doing and so on. I reminded him that he's 23. And his life is hardly over. I reminded him that while yes, he does have some responsibilities, he's a single, talented guy (working in advertising presently) and he can still do anything he wants to. He wanted to rant more. So I let him. And then assured him, again, that things would be OK.

There was one other particularly shocking incident as of late - someone who I had neatly tucked away into the "Pleasant Memories" file reappeared and turned that drawer upside down, leaving its contents in a pile on the floor. I'm still sorting through the remains. Trying my damndest to file them away again. That was a good place for them to stay. But when he called, his voice sounded so vulnerable. He asked me if I was happy, and I couldn't tell if the tone in his voice was one almost hoping I'd say no so that he might not be alone... But I confidently and honestly told him I was happy. And I asked him the same question, mostly just to reciprocate. But it came out as something much bigger. "What about you, are you... happy?" I asked. And I heard him take a deep breath. And answer me honestly. And in that moment I wished I WAS a camp counselor and that we were sitting on some bench together and I could throw my arms around him. And maybe then he wouldn't have hustled himself off the phone, or sounded so surprised when I asked him a question that was relevant, but revealed that I'd really listened to his previous answers, even to our conversations a year ago. It always breaks my heart a little when people like him are so surprised that I'm so awed by them. I don't know what else to be, and it makes me sad to realize that others aren't aware of what these incredible people are worth.

But I guess, if everyone realized things like that, there would be no camp counselors. I wouldn't be needed. So perhaps I should be happy that, even though it's out of the blue and seems to come in waves from the people I least expect, it shows that I am needed sometimes. And that these certain people still trust me. It's a good thing, I suppose. To be worthy of people's trust.

And thank you to you, dear readers, for being MY camp counselor. I think it's no coincidence that I'm able to handle people's secrets once again because I have somewhere to unload my own. And recieve your wonderful feedback. I am truly a very lucky girl.

The truth about valentine's day.

Compliments of PostSecret. (Also, I enjoy the fact that the title of this image, the link to it, is "ohdeargodno")

It's funny. I read this, and realized how incredibly on point it is for my reaction to strong feelings. Some of it, probably, can be seen in my stated aversion to "mush," in my hesitance to ever allow myself to be called anyone's girlfriend.

And consequently, although perhaps less obviously, in my vehement personal reaction to strong emotions I feel. Like some scared teenager, I shy away from strong emotions. Sure, I love my friends, and I tell them as much on a regular basis. But beyond that, when things really start to get serious? I don't have the slightest idea how to handle that. I don't know how to process emotions that require me to be vulnerable. Not anymore, at least.

Of course, that doesn't mean I don't have those emotions. It just means, perhaps, that I bury them deep inside and don't ever let them see the light of day. Ha. It's one of those funny-cause-it's-true kind of things. I really can't say more about any of this in hopes of not jinxing myself or my situation. But it is times like this when my imagination is a very dangerous thing.

Then again, sometimes so are my fantasies, when I can't so much find them arousing as intriguing, as peaceful, as happy. That concerns me, because I understand my desire, plain and simple. But when it's complicated by something more, I nearly always tend to screw it up. And I'd rather not.

On being a pro...

...blogger, that is.

No, I'm not actually a professional blogger. But I'm currently taking this class in internet journalism that's making me realize what it might be like were I actually getting paid (and therefore had the time) to blog. For this class, we're expected (among a slew of other things and programs and projects) to create and maintain a blog with a team of four people. And we are each expected to post at least three times a week. Yes, I know that means if I were to blog here for credit, I would fail miserably. But that means there are at least two posts a day... I think that's a little insane. Perhaps because I think of blogging as a personal thing and the idea of a blogging team in general is rather foreign to me, but I think two updates A DAY is a little much. It's an awful lot of content. Aside: We're also required to use wordpress, which I must admit does seem more powerful than Blogger, but it's also a hell of a lot more intimidating.

But ironically enough, I think, were I being paid to blog regularly, I certainly could. I've been slacking off particularly here as of late as the semester has picked up, but were my blogging a higher priority, I could pull it off. Maybe then I'd get some fun perks. Like more recognition, or hits, or other awesome things. another aside: does anyone know how I can add a hit counter to this blog?

Like meeting fellow bloggers. Oh, wait! That happened this weekend!

After a cozy five hour bus ride (which I slept through almost all of) to the City, I had the distinct pleasure of being picked up by Roland Hulme. hmm... that sounds a little strange out of context... What I mean is, he met me at the station. I told him I'd be wearing my white peacoat featured in past HNTs, and of course I knew from his blog what he looked like, so we exchanged numbers and set out. There was a little shuffling about as we played the i-think-that's-the-person-i'm-meeting game, but following the eye-to-eye acknowledgement and smile, greeted one another with a hug. Roland took me on a whirlwind tour of his office, a beautiful building in Manhattan, the stuff that young jschool students like myself only dream about, and then it was swiftly off to an Irish pub for some live music.

I should say that I'm not used to being around men who act so gentlemanly. (Yes, I know that's not a word.) Doors were held for me, luggage was carried, drinks were paid for - in short, he spoiled me rotten! I think Roland I got along exceedingly well, and moved past the awkward i-only-sort-of-know-you phase quite quickly. As he acknowledged, it's very strange to technically know so much about someone (he, and all of you, have seen me half-nekkid more than once, that's for sure) and simultaneously know so little (my real name, where I go to school, or even what color my eyes are). But just as I suspected we might, we got along well, quickly acting like old friends. He was indeed charming and fabulously quirky, as I was expecting. He was also, however, warm and welcoming, and I instantly felt comfortable around him - that's something that doesn't happen often for me and so I was all the more appreciative of it.

I do think I rose a few suspicions as to WHY I was at this pub with Roland. Several of his friends and coworkers were there, and while they were quite pleasant (and apparently a few were sad to see me leave), there were a couple who leaned in close and asked me without much subtlety, "So, how DO you two know each other?" I doubt anyone meant anything by it, and I actually thought it was quite funny. Not helped by Roland and my's fumbling around the answer - versions of the truth that attempted to maintain both our privacies - well, we read one another's blogs. What do we blog about? Oh, you know. Just life in general. *cue not-so-discreet subject change*

Overall, it was, without a doubt, the best welcome to the City I've had. I only wish I'd had more time to spend chatting and getting to know one another. Although I have no doubt that will happen in the future. As Roland said, we're no longer just blogosphere friends, we're friends in the realosphere.

The internet is for porn, and other random realizations.

This will, admittedly, be a disjointed post. I'm having three different conversations right now, all about similar things, but with different people. So maybe I'll just number the following grafs.

1. This evening, I learned rule 34 of the internet. After discussing the movie Coraline with Friend and a mutual friend (people are going to have to start getting fake-real names), and the beauty of real claymation, Friend asked if I thought there was claymation porn on teh interwebs. Well, even without applying rule 34, I found it. It isn't good, from what I found on a quick YouTube search, but it is pretty funny.

2. This led to a discussion of puppet sex - I mentioned Team America, he mentioned Avenue Q. Which I haven't actually seen all of, but have enough friends who are obsessed enough with Broadway musicals that I know most of the songs. I STILL have "The internet is for porn" stuck in my head.

3. And then I started chatting with my friend here at school about porn, which is always funny because he's quite sexually conservative, and while we have hooked up once and often share a bed, the sexual tension between us, in my opinion, is somewhat fabricated. Maybe it isn't from his end, but it isn't authentic from my opinion. And I'll admit that sometimes I do enjoy making him blush with my comfort of discussing sex.

4. Although as both Friend and Jacob have pointed out recently, while I have no problem discussing sexuality and sex in the more abstract, removed sense, actually discussing MY sexuality or the sex I'm having with a partner makes me terribly uncomfortable. I'm not sure if some of that, compared with how comfortable I am writing about sex here, or in other publications, has to do with my general higher level of confidence in print - I can proof what I write much more simply than proofing what I say. Nevertheless, I suppose it is a strange juxtaposition. Because I am hideously uncomfortable talking about sex while I'm having it. Even discussing my preferences or quirks makes me physically uncomfortable. So do fawning expressions of affection. Jacob knows that. Somehow, whenever we hang out, right before he leaves, he talks to me about how much he cares about me. And invariably, I end up with my back turned to him, hiding my eyes, which change color when I'm upset. I am, quite literally, physically uncomfortable. I suppose that's proof that I believe him, but it still makes me wonder if maybe there are some intimacy issues there. I wouldn't be all that surprised.

5. I was reading Essin' Em's blog, and I just LOVED this quote: "If you cannot laugh with the person you’re fucking with, then you’re fucking with the wrong person."I think it's brilliant. And as I was reading it, I was realizing that that's true with both the people I've slept with in the past few months. Friend and I's relationship is built almost entirely off our ability to be comfortable and laugh with each other (which includes the snarky, witty banter which I love so much). And Jacob is so ridiculous in his affection and, let's admit it, his indulgence of my fantasies and desires, that sometimes we also can't help but bust out laughing. I also tend to be a little disoriented after sleeping with him (from exhaustion and coming down and what not) which often leaves me as the one being ridiculous.

6. And the laughter is what was lacking from things with Edward. Who I have just let communication fade away with. There was no climactic "final scene" where I screamed at him for letting me down yet again. There was one very drunken and angry text message, but that was actually before he let me down this last time. I've simply stopped responding to him, on facebook, or text messages, or anything. And it's worth noting, for my own sake at least, that he has made all of one attempt to contact me, if it can be called that at all. (I'm not sure if a facebook "poke" counts for anything at all. Actually, no, I've decided that it isn't worth shit.) So maybe he's letting me go in the same way. I've finished the Twilight series, and I suppose that along with that ended my relationship with Edward. It seems fitting, I suppose. I won't say he'll never be in my life again, because he will, more likely than not, show up in a year trying to downplay how poor a friend he's been to me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to move past it. There's only so much a heart can take.

7. I have no female friends here at school. Literally, none at all. My roomates are both guys, and all of my close and even casual work and class acquaintances are men as well. I've always been a boy's girl, but this total lack of female companionship is something new. And a little strange. Generally, I like it, and it certainly facilitates things like three-pronged conversations about internet porn (although those aren't so out of place in my daily life anyway), but sometimes I do miss the girly-ness. And there's a notable lack of the queer women I was hanging out with before I went to Spain, although I'm hoping my involvement with the community here will bring me back into touch with them. My two best girl friends on this side of the country are both in the City right now, and I do plan on going to see them soon... my favorite artist is playing there in two weeks, and I need a break from the frozen tundra. And both my girl friends down there are decidedly feminine. One is even a full-blown, pink-wearing, blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority girl. Yes, I know that's reinforcing a stereotype, but she and The Texan, while I was in Spain, single-handedly made me reevaluate my condemnation of the university Greek system. Not too shabby. And, who knows, maybe I'll get to have coffee with the charming Roland Hulme while I'm there. What'cha say, friend?

8. I think that's the end of the randomness for now. For those of you who, by some miracle, are still reading, I appreciate it. I promise I'll get to work on more thought-provoking posts. I really am starting to turn on my brain for classes, but tomorrow is horseback riding, so that's where my head is now. God, I love riding. Stay warm, everyone.

i <3 teh interwebs

Because sometimes they make me giggle. Like when I wake up this morning, and see a message from David on facebook. Yes, walk-of-shame David. Which is funny, because my name is more than a little tricky to spell correctly, making me tough to find on Facebook. We did have a conversation that morning about my last name, I just failed to realize that was so he could find me online later. It made me smile, and blush a little bit. Although the less than awesome part: his status definitely says married. To a woman with a hyphenated last name the same as his.

Now, I remember him telling me he had a three year old daughter at home, and I also recall him very clearly telling me that he was no longer with the mother. I´m not really one for regret or shame, but I do feel a little bad if I just fucked some poor woman over. Of course, I also think most of the responsibility to that fidelity (and yes, I realize this is assuming that they are in a monogamous relationship which might not be the case, although for what it´s worth, he seemed relatively vanilla) lies with the people IN the relationship.

So for now I´ll just enjoy the irony of the interwebs.

(Details of the encounter with David are forthcoming, I promise. I just need to get back to my computer with a keyboard I´m used to typing on.)

*falls over laughing*

So, a while back, as a joke, I joined an online dating site called OKCupid. It's free and the gimmick is that by answering user-generated questions, you get matched with other users. So, supposedly, your fate is in your own hands. Or something like that.
Side note: I realize everyone says they joined online dating services as a joke, but I was working on an article for my magazine at the time, which was sparked by the fact that eHarmony will reject you if you're gay. Or not religious enough. Yeah. So I was looking into other sites that offered more options. For the record, on Chemistry.com, you can be gay, but you can't be bisexual. On OKCupid, you can be gay, straight, or bi, and you can be already in a relationship and still looking for partners, in which case it will list your orientation and "available" instead of "single."

Anyways, I periodically check it, and while I was coming down off the crazy amount of cold meds I've been on for the past three days, I was updating my profile, which I guess means I can receive instant messages. (Although they call them "intimate messages." Aw. How cute.) Apparently I missed one, so it was sent to me as a message in my inbox. Here is the text of the message in its entirety:

you look kinda exotic to me. i do want to see you naked. write back if you're interested.


And that was it. No name, no introduction. My profile says nothing about anyone seeing me naked, or even about BEING naked. I talk about my orientation and the kind of work I do, but that's it. So I'm not sure where the "i DO want to see you naked" as if I'd asked a question comes from.

Also, although it doesn't particularly make a difference, the sender is from Buenos Aires, Argentina. And actually, I probably would have been less put off my the message had he written it in Spanish.

Needless to say, I'm not writing back. I just think it's hilarious how little effort people seem to think it takes. And here's the catch: I'm easy. I know it, I own it. But come on, dude. You have to work a teeny bit harder than that. (Or, *gasp* could it be that I'm raising my standards? eeep. Who would have guessed.)

In other funny OKCupid news, when you look at a person's profile, it lists a percentage that, by the site's mysterious algorithms, you would be that person's "match," "friend," or "enemy." I logged back on to the site because through a series of texts with T (yes, from Thunder) today, he mentioned I should look him up there. And I did. And I have the highest compatibility rating I've seen with him. Which I think is hilarious. Also, I enjoy that he texts almost as much as I do. (And all of this is NOT creepy cyber-stalking cause he started it by searching out some of my published writing that I didn't know was still posted and commenting about it. And he gave me his OKCupid name.) I really like making new friends. I wish I were a little better at it. But I'm getting there.

And now I should sleep. Night, all.